


Distractions

by blanketed_in_stars



Series: 52 Weeks of Wolfstar [37]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1995, Grimmauld Place, M/M, Making Out, also I'm sorry because there is Pain here, and I'm shameless about using it, if anyone's read We're On Our Way (also by me), in other words I make stupid puns because I'm too scared to commit, they'll realize that I only know one way to avoid hardcore smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4821770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanketed_in_stars/pseuds/blanketed_in_stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It can get a little boring, waiting for a war to end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distractions

**Author's Note:**

> Week 37

Sirius leans in close to the design on the platter. “It’s as I expected,” he announces. “Revolting.”

“More blood purity runes?” Remus murmurs from across the room, leafing through a book on sanitation charms.

“No, just a truly hideous pattern.” Sirius drops the platter into the bin where it shatters satisfyingly. “I think I know why Kreacher tried to steal it—he probably wanted something that made him look less ghastly for once.”

Remus frowns, the Prefect showing through, but all he says is, “Really.”

Sirius dangles a goblet over the shards in the bin, sighs, and sets it back on the shelf. “Can we take a break?” he asks, walking over to Remus.

“We just started.”

“I know.” Sirius wraps his arms around Remus from behind and rests his chin on his shoulder. “I am sick to death of cleaning this house,” he says. “We’ve been at it for months.”

Remus doesn’t close his book, but Sirius can hear him smiling. “And it’s almost done. There’s not much left.”

“Then a few hours’ rest won’t hurt, will it?”

“Tired, are you?” Remus turns around in his arms with a glint in his eyes. “Maybe you ought to just go to bed.”

Sirius shakes his head. “Remember what happened the last time we didn’t wait until nighttime?”

Remus groans. “How could I forget?”

“Yet you’re always going after me about how he’s not that bad. Moony, I’m telling you—that house-elf’s twisted.”

There is a silence in which Remus, Sirius knows, is deciding whether or not to be moral. At last he says, “If you’re not going to sleep, what did you have in mind for this break?”

“Well,” Sirius says, “I’m hungry.” He kisses Remus, hard, pushing him against the dining table and relishing the softness of his lips.

Remus breaks away after a minute, out of breath. “How is this any better if we’re caught?”

“He’s seen worse than this,” Sirius says. “It’s just kissing.”

“Right.”

Sirius leans in again. “Do I detect a note of disappointment?” he whispers against him. “Surely you’d rather be cleaning.”

“To hell with cleaning,” Remus breathes, and knots one hand in Sirius’s hair. He steers them both away from the table and into a chair where Sirius surrenders, pulling Remus onto his lap, Remus’s lips like fire against his own.

He stays chaste enough, but he can’t help slipping his hands under Remus’s shirt to trace patterns on his back, skipping along scars he can’t see.

Remus melts into him—and loses his rather precarious balance, falling to the hard ground, clipping his head on the table during his descent. “Fuck,” he hisses.

“No,” Sirius laughs, “we’re _not_ doing that, remember?”

“Not much of a choice anymore,” Remus says.

“Are you going to get up, at least?”

“No.” Remus winces. “Ow.”

“I don’t think you’re making it hurt less by lying on the floor,” Sirius tells him, but he kneels beside him. “Is this a sign, Moony? Are we too old?”

Remus shakes his head stiffly, his neck at an awkward angle. “Only for wobbly chairs,” he says. “I think we’re still good for most of the rest.”

“Excellent.”

“But—” Remus holds up a hand. “Like I said, not right now. I need to recover.”

“All right.” Sirius takes his hand and helps him to his feet. “I know what you need.” He sits in the chair again and tugs Remus onto his lap again, holding him securely with his back against Sirius’s chest.

Remus laughs, but doesn’t resist. “My head’s still sore,” he complains.

Sirius gives it a light kiss. “No more cleaning for you. In fact, I think it’s best if we both take the rest of the day off.”

Remus sighs. The slight shudder of his exhalation moves through both of them, pressed together as tightly as they are. “You’re right,” Remus says, “I’m fed up with it as well.”

Sirius looks around at the dining room, mostly repaired but still gloomy, and says what he knows they’re both thinking. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“We’ve started making a bit more progress,” Remus says, “at least in some parts of the Ministry. We could be out by next summer.”

“Summer,” Sirius repeats, his nose in Remus’s hair. The word alone fills him with longing. “We’ve still got the cottage, right? We’ll go back there.”

Remus nods. “Buckbeak would have some room to stretch his wings,” he muses. “And maybe we could finally plant that garden. You know, the one we wanted to do for—for James.”

Sirius remembers. “Full of lilies.” It was going to be a joke, but it turned into a more meaningful idea. And then he couldn’t imagine planting a garden with a spy. Except there was no spy, or there was, but they all missed it—

“Sorry,” Remus says, twisting around to kiss his cheek. “I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sirius hates this, the backsliding and the moments where it feels like no time at all has passed, and the old fears pound themselves right back into his skin. But he smiles at Remus. “Harry could come stay with us,” he suggests. “When all this is over.”

Remus smiles back. “We’d be a family,” he says softly.

It strikes Sirius, suddenly, that this is true, and it could happen. It’s hard to remember sometimes that there really will be a world after the war, and that he just might see it. “When all this is over,” he repeats, not a qualification, but a conviction. A hope. A promise to keep.


End file.
